


i'll know my name (as it's called again)

by cancerthecrabbo



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Mental Instability, POV Alternating, Second Person, because it's Snafu, cursing, slur, third person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-17 05:31:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11268927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cancerthecrabbo/pseuds/cancerthecrabbo
Summary: Snafu was born from battle.  He is a raging storm, a ticking time bomb, a mosaic of war-shattered glass.





	i'll know my name (as it's called again)

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the portrayal in the TV show - NOT the real people. 
> 
> Title from Cave by Mumford & Sons

Snafu talks like he's dying in more ways than one and stares out from clouded eyes that no longer see beauty.   _Ain't no one goin' home_.  Merriell Shelton's dead, he says.   _Don' call me Merriell, cuz he's gone so don' fuckin' use it._   

 

Despite all of his cussing, the spark of anger was barely present in Snafu - but when it caught fire it seemed to burn away the last remaining shreds of sanity.  He rarely ever got as upset as he did, watching Peck stare at the crinkled picture, as he was too far gone most of the time to bare his teeth as genuinely as he did that day.  It was almost alarming to see Snafu stand up purposefully and slide over to the bastard, pushing his forehead to the side of the little shits helmet with piercing eyes clouded over by mental instability.  Like the ocean reflecting the gray of the sky just before a storm.  And that day, the time he spent slithering through the mud like dogs and not fucking sleeping for more than two hours most nights and _barely_ being able to contain the perpetual fury and raging force that is himself was shown.  His companions caught a glimpse of the storm.  It was ugly in inhuman, ferocious in every way, it beat against the rock of his brain with a vehemence that wore down his mind faster than Gene and Burgin and Bill would have liked.

 

But.  Who cares.  Snafu - _jus' need a smoke is all_.  He says this with his usual slur but there's a tightness about his big eyes that shows a residual anger.

 

* * *

 

 Squelch through the mud.  Hide behind a wall.  Sink your boots into the shit under you, and crouch behind another wall.  Keep an eye on Sledgehammer because he's still a Southern belle in your eyes.  Don't pray to God because he's not present here.  Shoot some Japs.  Hear a blabbering civilian mother and think of your own sisters and brother.  Feel her blood spatter on your face, feel rage bubble up from the crevice in your mind.  Smell the smoke from the end of your gun.

 

Rasp out some shit that makes you even angrier and feel something new break and then get jammed back in the wrong way.  They're raining down hell on their own soldiers.

 

Feel for the helmet on your head because there's no more tears and no more Merriell and they almost blew you up.  Think of your mom and then stop thinking of her because her son is dead you're all that's left.  Don't sleep at night because that's not how you want to die.  You want to see the sky.

 

In the morning, listen to the squelch all over again.  Feel the last remaining pieces of human in you get dusted off by Eugene's hands.  Observe as what happened to you a while ago seems to happen to Peck.  Do not observe as your Sledgehammer tries to save someone who's already hit.  Ignore that it's Bill-Leyden-your-friend.

 

Lose yourself further as the sun goes away.  And the light from Gene's eyes strays further.

 

Trade banter with Burgie because he's good.  Not like Hamm's shitty naivety - he's seen as much as you have.  But he's still much, much better than you.

 

Crack.  Crack.  Shatter.  Wish you were dead.  Think of your family.  Think of how you're already dead.  Feel that the statement is true.  See it happen as Eugene yells at you and you yell back at him and crack, crack, crack.

 

You're so fucking tired.

 

You're so _fucking_ tired.

 

But.  Who cares?  Who cares?


End file.
